Chapter 41

“All praise to Santa Ana di Chisa,” the widow Benedicti breathed, dialing the widow Ciacci’s number into her cell phone after she’d dropped Lily off at the parking lot by the tourist office.

“She’s on her way back up the Corso now,” she reported.

“Was disaster averted?” the widow Ciacci wanted to know.

“It’s hard to say,” the widow Benedicti reported. “Partially, perhaps.”

“Is partially enough?” the widow Ciacci asked doubtfully. “I can’t remember how it works.”

“Don’t ask me, it’s nearly thirty years. And even then we only did it at night in the dark on a Thursday.”

“Oh, I miss it though, Benedicti, don’t you?”

“Thursdays have never quite been the same,” her friend admitted. “Although I often make a crostata di more on a Thursday now, so that gives me something to look forward to.”

“So what shall I tell Violetta?”

“Tell her that the new calzino and old calzino were found in a state of partial undress in the living room, not the bedroom, and that upon being surprised by myself, became fully dressed, talked for quite a while—about what I’m not sure—and then parted.”

“Was the parting romantic?” the widow Ciacci wanted to know.

“She was in his arms but there didn’t seem to be anything too spicy going on. It was more . . . companionable, I suppose you could say.”

“No harm in being companionable,” the widow Ciacci said. “We’ll see you back at HQ? There’s a lot to be organized.”